You remember me, don’t you? And the way I moved when the nights were too long? I don’t remember much anymore. Not the feel of your hands Or the touch of your voice on my ears Or the sounds you made When my hands touched you. Just little things In isolation The turn of your head when you laughed The curve of your shoulders on a bad day The rush of adrenaline I felt Every time you smiled. And sometimes A whole wave of half-thoughts Like an acid flashback When I smell a certain smell Or come around a corner And am swamped by an unanticipated similarity That I think I could drown in. Forgetting takes time. Time takes everything The pain we held onto because it was all we had left The moments that kept us and held us together when it seemed nothing could The little momentous things we though we’d never forget. The march of days and months and eventually years Doesn’t differentiate. The good go with the bad. What do you remember? Do you remember what a pessimist I was? I still am. Maybe time does discriminate a bit. The bad lasts longer than the good Leaves a deeper impression And a taste in your mouth That you just can’t rinse out. I hope I can hold onto some of the good anyway, Manage not to put out the baby with the bathwater As they say.